


If I Touch You, Will You Listen?

by wakandan_wardog



Series: A Touch of Grace [1]
Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers (Comic)
Genre: M/M, Male Character of Color, POV Character of Color, Pining, Pre-Movie, Prequel, Supernatural Elements, Unintentional BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 19:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15079841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandan_wardog/pseuds/wakandan_wardog
Summary: Cougar has a bad feeling as they prepare for the Fadhil Operation, he probably should listen to it, but there's no way to sell Clay on 'the spirits think it's a bad idea and Mama always warned to listen to them', so he stays quiet. But Jensen... He'll stick close to Jensen, and maybe warn the tech to stay sharp. He probably doesn't need to put his hands on Jake to do that, but, oh well.





	If I Touch You, Will You Listen?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rinnwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinnwrites/gifts), [LolaDiBlack (AndroidTwin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndroidTwin/gifts).



Knowing that this is the last time they’ll be in a building with a solid roof and walls that isn’t filled with enemy soldiers, Sergeant Carlos Alvarez –Cougar, to his friends and fellow Losers- should probably be enjoying himself a little more than he is. Should probably settle down beside the coffee table and wordlessly convince Jensen into a few hands of poker, Pooch too if he’s willing. Should maybe sprawl on the sofa like the cat they name him for, tilt his cowboy hat over his eyes, and catch a little sleep before it’s time for them to roll out to their rally-point in the depths of the jungle.

Then again, if he did the unit might riot. The Losers always insist he doesn’t know a damn thing about enjoying himself, so perhaps that’s hoping for too much. The team means well, they really do, so they have fun teasing him for being the most uptight cat they know, just like they tease Clay about his women, and Roque about his knives. No one is immune though, as Roque’s biggest target Jensen gets teased about running his mouth and the strangely bright shirts he wears. Everyone but Cougar gets onto Pooch about how devoted he is to the spitfire that is his wife, Jolene. But that’s a softer, envious sort of teasing that just gets Pooch to bragging that they’re jealous and he’s lucky. Still, it works all the same.

At the end of the day, Cougar gets off pretty lightly, though he says little and that means they don’t have much ammo to fire at him. Used to working with him though they might be, he knows that the other soldiers think him too quiet, too serious to have a good time. Out at a bar he can pick up a dozen señoritas and prove them wrong, have them catcalling and whistling their approval at just how easy it is to charm the local girls in any country they land in. But here, in the middle of an op, he conserves his energy. Better to sit quietly and listen, to clean his rifle, to review op tech or listen to Clay’s latest run-through of the plan.

At the least he should probably be more relaxed, but he can’t quite shake a feeling. It’s something bad. Nerves? A buzz of discontent in the back of his mind, nerves rioting until phantom sensations march down his arms and he bites back a half-dozen oaths in a mix of Spanish and English. If Cougar is honest with himself, he’d admit that he’s had bad feeling since they were told that they were going into this operation in Bolivia. Before they’d even climbed on the plane, he’d felt the mission was trouble, and things hadn’t gotten any better now that they’d landed and were preparing to drive out to the depths of the jungle.

He won’t admit it, won’t give words to a feeling that might be nerves or might be sweat or might be nothing at all but for how it buzzes in his skull and refuses to be silent. With no way to vent, he restlessly reaches for his gun even though he’s cleaned her and packed her for transport. He won’t get her out again until they’ve reached their rally post in the jungle, waiting for the next update from Ops. No point in getting her out until then, best to just let her rest easy in her case. Let her sleep until it’s time to go to work. Restlessly, religiously, he runs his hands over the case again anyway.

The rifle case is soft, padded nylon and leather worn to comfort. Stained with his sweat and his blood and the dirt of a dozen countries, the dark shape of it rests easy at his feet, ready to be slung over his back when they move out. Still, without her under his hands tension threads his spine like steel cables, making him short-tempered and his muscles tight nearly beyond bearing. He keeps his head on a swivel automatically, but finds himself restlessly glancing this way and that, as though he were trying to catch sight of something elusively just out of his peripheral.

Their leader, Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Clay, stands against the far wall, gesturing at the map he’d pinned up to give them an idea of the terrain they were about to lose themselves in. To one side there are a few helpful charts regarding maps, satellite imagery that supports their rough working knowledge of terrain, and the few landmarks that will be posted on the primitive roads. None of that is crucial to Cougar’s job, but he keeps an ear on it in case he needs to remind his teammates later. The general consensus is:  _‘it’s the jungle, there’s not much road, but somewhere out there is the villa of an arms dealer and we’re going to find it and mark it for payload delivery’_. Which sounds way simpler than it’s guaranteed to be, and they’re all clear on that.

But since no plans survive contact with the enemy, and he can’t shake whatever has him unsettled, Cougar checks in on his teammates. Clay, for his part, seems to take no notice of Cougar’s unrest. The Colonel is outlining their op the same way he always does, Roque at his side and within reach. Roque himself doesn’t seem to be paying any sort of attention, he’s going through his various knives and making sure each one is as sharp as possible, his own little pre-op ritual. He’s probably run through everything three times with Clay anyway, before they presented it to the unit, so Cougar isn’t worried about him.

Sitting with his back to Cougar, Linwood Porteous pays strict attention to the words of their leader and the menacing presence of his second. Then again, he is the wheelman, and with them sitting still he alone has nothing better to do. So Pooch sits obediently in their midst, and it would be a joke except for how genuine he is; all wide, dark eyes and keen attention. It’s Mojito –the little bobble-head Chihuahua he insists hauling all over the world and on every gods forsaken mission they go on- that’s the real joke. Mojito rests on a convenient crate to Pooch’s right, nodding solemnly at Clay’s every word. Clay, to his credit, has given no notice of the dog. Maybe it’s enough of a constant that he really doesn’t see anything wrong with it. Maybe Mojito is an honorary Loser after all they shit they’ve been through. Who can say?

Cougar saves Jensen for last. The best? The worst? The most inclined to chaos? Perhaps all of those things, at any given moment, maybe even some of them simultaneously. Certainly Jake is the first person he wants to check on, and for that reason alone –for an exercise in self-discipline- Cougar had left him till last. But he’s checked on the rest of the team now, even the empty-headed Mojito, so he’s free to look now.

Jake Jensen is sure as hell a sight worth admiring, of that Cougar has no doubt. Blond hair rucked up to wild spikes from the careless rake of his fingers, Jensen sits on the far side of the room, hunched over a precarious tower of overturned crates. The way his under armor shirt clings to him highlights his muscular chest and arms, the fabric pressed close to the curve of his back as he shifts and tenses and reaches. It’s not that cool in the room, but the shirt is fitted and Cougar has no trouble picking out the faint bump of Jensen’s nipples through the thin fabric. Fabric stretched taut over the soldier’s pectorals.

 _Dios_.

Tearing eyes away from Jensen, Cougar eyes the little work station the blond has built himself of abandoned wooden shipping crates. The crates themselves look a bit like a rudimentary henge, two set up with one balanced over the top, wide enough that he can set up two small laptops which he types away at madly. Clad in clean fatigue pants, his long legs are splayed out through the gap formed by the two upstanding crates, one muscular thigh pressed over another and booted heels crossed and tangled.

Now and again he seems to forget his size or his precariously built furniture and moves enough to strike the unstable structure with a knee. When everything wobbles he hisses a curse and grabs clumsily for it, steadying his precious work station before he’s off once more. Cougar wants to smile at him fondly, but settles for giving the faintest shake of his head. Puppy-like clumsiness is usually only a Jensen trait when he’s trying too hard, when he doesn’t think about it he’s almost graceful.

The Sniper would know, he watches all the damn time… and moments like that are his favorite.

Cougar watches his pink lips turn a darker red as he gnaws at them carelessly, growling when something on his screen misbehaves and venting his frustrations on his own body. If they were alone Cougar might try to talk him out of it, might try to at least talk him into letting Cougar take over for a bit, but he’s spent two years thinking about how that mouth might taste and there’s not a damn point in saying so now. Not in front of everyone, damn nerves and restless feelings or no.

Though he can’t see them, he knows there are arctic blue eyes set in Jensen’s handsome face, obscured by ridiculous circular framed glasses. The glasses themselves are tinted but currently reflect a mix of color and text that Cougar has no hope of reading at this distance, let alone backwards. Jensen carries on without difficulty, typing here and then there, frowning, reaching over to make a note in pen, sticking the pen in his mouth so his hands are free to type again.

He’s clearly in the zone, as he likes to call it, fingers flying at what seems like a thousand words a minute. Cougar wants to smile, something settling in his chest at the sight of Jake, safe and sound and just, _himself_ , but he can’t. The tension still curls in his spine like molten iron, weighting his shoulders, singeing his scalp. He’s got a bad feeling about this op, and not even Jake’s tech-obsessed zoning or the cling of his shirt is going to fix that.

“Losers, let’s head out!” Clay barks. “Rally point in the jungle, Jensen, if you’re done chatting up your catfish in Russia?”

“Awww don’t be like that, Colonel!” Jensen spits the pen out and beams, clicking a few more things before snapping both laptops shut. “I’d offer to introduce you, but at this distance how would you know when they try to kill you?”

“If they don’t try to kill you, is it really love?” Roque wonders loudly, and Pooch barks a laugh as he scoops up Mojito and his pack and lunges for the door.

“When are you gonna let that go, Roque?” Clay sighs as he grabs his own gear and follows the Wheelman out the door. “One time, one.”

“One? Bullshit, one!” Roque yells indignantly as he follows, and Cougar shakes his head as he and Jensen are finally left alone.

“You think it’s a good sign our CO can’t count?” Jensen murmur, humor curling his mouth as he stows his gear and slings his pack over his back, his laptop case hanging at his shoulder. “There’s been a hell of a lot more than one woman trying to kill him.”

Cougar would point out plausible deniability, or just plain denial, but instead he shrugs. He has no interest in speaking of Clay, or Clay’s relationships, and if he doesn’t even have to think about them he’d prefer that outcome above the rest.

Instead, he drifts into Jensen’s space and reaches out, catching the tech with a palm cupped around the back of his neck. “Jake.”

It may as well be magic, the way that name makes Jensen freeze. Like a golden bridle forged by the gods, he goes still and compliant under Cougar’s hand, all that restless energy and wild spirit tamed in an instant. His blue eyes are visible now, bright and soft and wide as he gazes at Cougar in a dazed sort of attentiveness. His shoulders are broad and powerful, wider than Cougar’s, but the curl of his neck is compliant and not stubborn, his eyes and jawline relaxed. Like he’s listening, but floating just a little on some unknown delight.

“Jake.” Cougar says again, because he can, his calloused palm sliding up to bury fingers in short shadowed-golden hair. “ _Me escuchas_? I have a bad feeling about this, so I want you to be careful.”

Jensen nods slowly, still visibly dazed, and licks at his lips. Whatever’s going on with him, he’s at least trying to hold onto the conversation. And Cougar would let go to see if he focuses better but he likes the hold way too damn much. _Damn it._

Jensen’s voice is slightly confused, but he’s still listening, still trying to be good. “A, bad feeling? Ok, Cougs. Sure. I’m always careful.”

“ _More_ careful than you usually are.” Cougar growls, using his handhold to give the blond a shake. “Your usual amount, it’s not good enough. You’ll do better, _si_? _Entiendes_?”

“Ah, _si_ , better than usual.” Jensen wobbles a bit, nods as he swallows visibly. “Whatever you say, Cougs.”

Cougar growls, low in his throat as he curls his lip back for a moment. “If we go into the villa, you stay close to me.”

“Huh?” Jensen looks like he’s just about to drift, somehow gone lazy and relaxed under the authoritative grip of Cougar’s hand, when the words sink in and his eyes snap wide. “Go in? Cougar we’re just surveillance and eyes on! Gonna find ourselves a nice hilltop in the jungle, paint the place for a payload, and we’re done. Easy.”

“I said _if_.” Cougar growls, giving another shake because he likes how compliant it makes the tech. “If something goes wrong, and we have to go in, you _stay close to me_. _Vale_?”

“Sure.” Jensen gives a faint whine, eyes going half lidded. “Uh, _si. Vale._ ”

“Good.” Cougar praises softly, rewarding the tech by brushing his thumb gently over the hollow behind Jensen’s ear. The blond man shivers, eyes drifting closed like he’s basking. For that alone Cougar gives him another gentle stroke before releasing him and stepping back and clearing his throat. “You first, Jake. _Vamonos_.”

Jensen gives a gratifying little stagger when he’s released, eyes snapping wide and dazed. He gives himself a little shake, drawing up to his full height and giving his own little cough. “What? Right. Op. Blowing up a villa in the middle of nowhere, Bolivia. Ok, sure. Clay and the guys are waiting, so, going.”

Cougar fights a smile, gives him a shove toward the door where he can hear the distant shouting of the other Losers. “ _Go_ , Jake.”

“Going, going…” Jensen mutters, giving him another soft look before bolting for the door. “Damn sexy Mexican sniper with the hat and the hands and the _accent_ …”

The feeling still sits, prickly over Cougar’s scalp and spine. But there’s a warmth in his belly that just might counter it. He may not be listening to what his Mama told him, but if things do go sideways like the spirits say they might, he’ll protect Jake. And maybe, when they get through this, he can get his hands on the blond again… Can see what happens when they don’t have somewhere to be, don’t have the team waiting on them.

**Author's Note:**

> Dios- God  
> Me escuchas- Do you hear me?  
> Si- Yes  
> Entiendes- You understand?  
> Vale- okay  
> Vamonos- Let's move/Let's go  
> *  
> All my love to [AndroidTwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LolaDiBlack/pseuds/AndroidTwin) for her cheerleading and beta/language assistance.  
> And this is the first of my stories in "The Losers" fandom. Hi there!


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